


Murder Playground

by CoopPenny



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Child Death, Flirting, Freddy Krueger is his own warning, Gen, Ghost Face being a creep, Kissing, M/M, Mental Instability, Moral Dilemmas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoopPenny/pseuds/CoopPenny
Summary: As the Entity takes the sacrifice, it drains the hope out of the Survivors. But there was one side effect that no one could have predicted…
Relationships: David Tapp/Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face, Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen/Frank Morrison, Survivors (Dead by Daylight) & Killers (Dead by Daylight)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 90





	1. The Huntress

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted de-aged Survivors and the Killer’s being all ‘oh fuck! What do we do now?’. This fanfic is literally based off of that thought alone, so… Enjoy this, I guess…

“Wh-What?” Jake stuttered out his question, looking up at the surrounding people with wide eyes, mouth gaping before he registered his own too-high voice and snapped it shut. This had never happened before and in a world where everything was forever unchanging, that was a huge deal. Looking down at his own hands, Jake was barely able to register the fact that they were so small, his usually large and calloused fingers now soft and small, his voice was high and his meagre height now barely reached a normal person’s waist. Looking around, Jake could see that the same thing went for all of the other Survivors, just as small and delicate and Jake was.

“Shit!” David swore violently, his youthful face twisted with fury, his usually threatening energy now cute as his brows furrowed over his big doe-brown eyes and small nose wrinkled in his anger. Though the swearing coming from someone who was physically a child was jarring. “What the fuck happened?!”

“Cool it with the language, King!” Jeff snapped. While Jeff didn’t look like a kid, in the sense of the younger Survivors, he had still been aged down. His ash-grey hair was now a solid black and his huge beard was gone, leaving him exposed to the world as a pretty youth that was no older than sixteen. Though the two scars that slashed through his eyebrow were still there and his bigger than average stature still made him look more intimidating than the rest of the Survivors.

“Fuck off, asshole!” David growled, flipping the now-young artist off and bearing his teeth in an attempted threatening manner, which only made him look more adorable in Jake’s opinion - David was a real cute kid.

“How- How about w-we calm down for a moment,” Dwight piped up and Jake couldn’t help but stare. Jeez, if David was a cute kid then Dwight looked like a freaking cherub. His cheeks were round and slightly red with cute baby-fat, eyes equally as round and doe-like, but his eyes were brown with a hint of purple that Jake had never seen, or looked closely enough when the man was an adult - probably hidden due to the thick glasses that the older Dwight needed while the younger version of Dwight’s face was bare. Purplish-brown doe eyes looked to Jake, wide and begging for his cool and steady support that had most of the other Survivors listening in an instant.

With a silent nod of his head, Jake tried to look as dignified as he could as he looked around at everyone with a cool expression and his arms folded. With Jake as Dwight’s obvious back-up, the group fell silent from its panicked babbling and focused on the pair.

“Alight,” Dwight coughed, determination shining in his eyes as he looked around at all the noticeably younger, but recognisable faces of his fellow Survivors, “I know we’re all confused and scared right now and this doesn’t really make a lot of sense, but it’s something that we’re going to have to deal with. Maybe, with time, this will fade and we’ll be back to normal, but, for now, we need to accept the fact that this has happened and no matter what, we get through this together.” he stressed the last word, looking around at everyone with large purple-brown eyes that were narrowed with seriousness - an expression that seemed unnatural on a child’s face. Jake smiled a little, endeared at the fact that Dwight was getting them to rally together and rely on one another, as they all should at this confusing time. Hopefully, they would change back, or age up, but if not then they would have to adapt and move on, just like they did whenever the Entity threw something new at them.

The Survivors seemed to reluctantly agree, nodding and grumbling as they turned and went back to what they would usually do when they were between trials - hopefully, this would be reversed before another group were dragged away to be violently slaughtered.

Jake looked around and observed the changes in the other Survivors. Most of the adults that were well into their working years looked to be very young adults now, or old teenagers, while the young adults and teenagers of the group were de-aged to children.

Bill was still the eldest of the group, but what was once white-grey hair and lightly trembling hands from early stages of Parkinson's was now a young man of about mid-to-late-twenties with white-blonde hair, five o'clock shadow and sharp crystal-blue eyes. However, his physical age was redundant as his blue eyes looked haunted with past and current trauma, revealing his true age.

Ash looked to be in his early twenties, with solid black hair, and no lines upon his face. Unfortunately, he was still without a hand, the man looking at the advanced prosthetic with sadness in his sharp, dark blue eyes when he thought no one else was looking. Tapp and Jane looked to be the same age as Ash, give or take a few years, both of them looking less hardened from the stress of a normal life and career as well as the harsh ship of the trials.

Jeff, Ace and Adam looked to be around the same ages as well, a look about them as if they were on the tail-end of their puberty years, so around fifteen or seventeen. All three of them looked youthful, Ace and Adam especially with their awkward arms and lanky frames that just screamed awkward puberty years. Jeff looked to have the lucky end of the deal as he looked to have grown out of the lanky phase already and was filling out already into the large intimidating figure that they were all used to - he kind of looked like David, in other words.

The rest of the Survivors were younger ranging from Nea and Feng, who looked to be entering her early stages of puberty as a very young teenager, and Quinten, who looked to be around six or so with his small stature, smaller than Jake who looked to be around ten or so, and large brown eyes that kept on drooping and shooting open with lack of sleep. The fact that there were more younger Survivors than older ones proved to be troublesome in Jake’s eyes. After all, with more younger Survivors, they were more likely to be put in a trial, statistically speaking and if they didn’t age-up soon.

As if the Entity had heard his thoughts and wanted to spite him, he felt an eerily familiar sensation of his body, one that he’s come to associate as being summoned to a trial. He cursed loudly as his vision faded and then brightened to the dark setting of the red forest. The intimidatingly tall trees were even more so now that he was so small and frail. As a kid, he would be much easier to kill and as a child, the pain would only be greater, the pain receptors of a child’s being more sensitive than that of an adult’s.

Shaking himself out of those depressing thoughts, Jake started to run in the direction that he knew a generator would be nearly tripping over his feet a few times, still unused to his changed body. As he ducked into his desired building, Jake instantly found the generator and smiled in slight relief when he saw that Meg was already working on it, small fingers twisting the wires as her brows drew together in concentration, scrunching up her small face. Meg still looked the same as a child as she did as an adult, easily identifiable to Jake. She was small, if a bit slightly taller than Jake, which told him that she was probably a year older than he was; her hair was still distinctly orange and long, parted into two long plates that fell over her small shoulders and flat chest, and her eyes were large and sky blue and set into her small round face. She was a very pretty little girl and Jake can picture a small Meg running around in the playground at school as the other boys tried to play kiss-chase with her.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice low, before he went to the other side of the generator and dug his small hands into the mess of wires, “You seen the other’s yet?” humming with mild content at the revelation that his small fingers and hands could more easily manoeuvre the broken parts and twist the wires together than when he was an adult with much larger hands.

“No,” she shook her head, lips twitching down slightly with distaste, for a second before her expression returned to wary, obviously still unused to the high-pitched, childish quality of her voice as he was to his own. They sat in silence, both of them unwilling to speak or address the strangeness that the Entity was forcing on them. While Jake could easily deal with anything the glorified spider threw at him, being turned into a kid included, it didn’t make this any less strange.

As his small fingers twisted the wires together, Jake found his mind trailing to Meg. He wondered what she was doing when she was actually the age she appeared. Was she popular in school? Was she helpful at home? Was she already starting to do all the chores around the house because her mother’s health was beginning to deteriorate? Jake knew what he would be doing at his age: he would be left alone in that cold, empty mansion with absent parents and a Butler that would soon be fired because he accidentally called him ‘Dad’.

“Jake!” Meg suddenly hissed, sharply dragging Jake out of his idle musings to hear the tell-tale clam thumping of the Killer’s nearing heartbeat.

Both kids scrambled to their feet, generator abandoned, and swiftly ducked into the near-by hiding spaces with an efficiency that spoke of years of practice. Jake was silently pleased that he could now fit into the darkest, smallest corner of the room with his small body, completely undetectable. Breath steady and silent, Jake listened as the heartbeat got louder and louder until it was directly on top of them and a softly hummed lullaby carrying along with the light breeze of the constant night, watching with unblinking eyes as large feet walked into the room, the shine of a blood-splattered hatchet catching in the low light of the room. The Huntress. To be fair, of all Killers to face as a child, Jake didn’t think the Huntress was all that bad. She was fast in her kills with an air that told Jake that she didn’t really take any pleasure from the loss of life from someone’s eyes unlike some of the other Killers that they’d been forced to face.

The Huntress moved steadily through the room, obliviously taking in the half-done generator before deciding that her would-be-victims were gone and moved on. Jake listened intently, neither her nor Meg daring to move until her footsteps faded, then her hauntingly soft lullaby and then her daunting heartbeat. Slowly, both crept out of their hiding places and then returned to fixing the generator, the tense silence between the pair as comfortable as they would ever get during a trial - both knew the error of false comfort.

Another few minutes of working on the generator went by until it started up in a rusty moan. In the real world, Jake would straight up scrap the thing for making such an ancient and dying sound, but in this hell, the sound was basically the equivalent of singing angels. But, Jake didn’t dwell on the small victory for long, him and Meg already heading to fix another generator to open the gate.

They’d just stepped outside when they heard a choked off scream that wasn’t too far away from them.

Brown met blue in a second of silent communication before the pair were off, Meg a little further ahead of Jake as they ran with all their might, small legs pounding on the compact earth, jumping over and avoiding leaf-covered tree roots with practiced ease that, thankfully, wasn’t lost to their coltish limbs. They started to slow down when they could hear the soft humming of The Huntress that sounded more beautiful than haunting at that moment. Meg signalled Jake with her hand and he slowed down, body crouching low to the floor as to not be seen. Luckily, there was a large shrub, which the pair instantly crouched behind, careful not to rustle the leaves as they peered around it - they were far too short to even attempt to look over it.

Instantly Jake made eye contact with Kate from across the small clearing, her small head poking around from the large tree trunk, red curly hair mixing in with the autumn background as she hid her small frame behind the tree once again. Kate acknowledged Jake’s eyes went to the small clearing where the Killer and his captured teammate was. Hopefully, they could distract the Killer, or cause some kind of diversion before they could hook the child-survivor, as Jake had no doubt in his mind that they’d all be far too short to try and unhook them. That was another thing about being a child again: they were all too short to reach the hooks - instant game over.

Looking at the Huntress and their teammate, Jake had to blink several times at the sight before him. In the small clearing was the Huntress, her form even more hulking and intimidating now that Jake was only one-quarter of his usual height, humming and swaying on the spot as she cradled an unbearably small Quentin to her chest, gently cradling his small to her shoulder as she soothingly carded her fingers through his small head of brown curls.

Quentin was by far one of the youngest of them all, at around six years of age, if Jake were to hazard a guess and was incredibly small for that age - he was one of the youngest survivors anyway, having arrived in the nightmare realm at the non-legal age of seventeen. Jake always felt kind of sorry for Quentin. The kid was barely seventeen and had lived through two major traumatising events before he’d even been picked up by the Entity and, to make matters worse, the person who’d been responsible for those two traumas had the privilege to hunt, kill and dream-stalk the teen on a near-constant basis, which was why Quentin was constantly tired. 

Which was why Jake made the stupid mistake of stepping forward and accidentally rustling the bush when he saw that Quentin was dangerously close to falling asleep in the huge warmth and soft humming of the woman holding him.

Instantly regret rushed through Jake as he shared a wide-eyed look with Meg and the Huntress became alert once more as she cradled Quentin tightly to herself and picked up her hatchet. Jake had just a fast enough reaction time to duck the blade of the hatchet that cleaved his hiding spot in half, just barely missing his head as he felt the disturbance of air hit his face. Shocked by the fast movement, Jake didn’t manage to catch his footing in time, his small feet fumbling over the large dead leaves, making him fall over with a small grunt.

Sure that he was done for, Jake turned his grim expression to the Huntress, preparing himself for the pain of her large axe to cut his small body in half. However, no pain came as the Huntress looked down at Jake’s small form, rabbit mask tilted as she looked down at him the large holes of her mask trained solely on him, making him shiver with the intensity of it despite not actually being able to see her eyes.

It felt like an eternity had passed before she finally made a move.

Her weapon dropped to the forest floor with a resounding thump and before Jake could even try to scramble to his feet and run away, a large hand gently curled around his midriff and lifted him from the ground. Jake could barely breathe as the Huntress walked to the middle of the clearing, his body so high off the ground that Jake found his small hands clinging to the Huntress’ large fingers to make sure she didn’t drop him. As soon as he realised his mistake, Jake released his hold, but the only reaction the Killer gave was the small twitching of her shoulders which showed her suppressed laughter. Ignoring the embarrassment colouring his cheeks, Jake watched tensely as the female Killer settled on the forest floor, crossing her large legs before gently placing the barely-awake Quentin in her lap and then turning her attention into him. She manhandled Jake, shushing his protests, until she was holding him before her, large hands lifting him up from under his armpits. She seemed to examine him for a moment before she leaned forward and placed a small motherly kiss on Jake’s forehead and tucked him under her neck, stroking her strong fingers through his tangled hair and started to hum and soothe him when he fidgeted in small protest - too scared to actually fight against her.

Soon, the combination of her humming and soothe pets had Jake unwittingly relaxing in her grasp and he had to wonder when the last time someone had been so soft and… motherly towards him. He finally came to the sad revelation that he actually couldn’t remember such an occasion…

A small rustle of movement had Jake opening his eyes - when had he closed them? - and peering up from the Huntress’ shoulder. Both Kate and Meg and stepped out from their hiding places, both having come to the same conclusion that the Killer wasn’t actually a danger to them as children. Maybe she had morals against killing children? Or maybe seeing them as children triggered something that battled her Killer Instincts? Whatever it was, Jake was thankful that the Huntress wouldn’t be hunting and killing them this trial - being spontaneously turned into children was enough for the moment, without the usual crap on top of it.

The Huntress made a soft cooing noise as she placed Jake in the warmth of her lap next to Quentin, who instantly cuddled up to Jake in his sleep, before gently beaconing the young girls over. When Kate and Meg were within reach, the Huntress wasted no time in swooping them off the ground, shushing their gasps of surprise and fear, as she hugged and petted them in the same manner as she’d done to Quentin and Jake, humming her gentle lullaby the whole time.

Jake was still dozing with Quentin when the Huntress started to move and blinked dazedly when she gently prodded him awake. With a large yawn - which would have been jaw-cracking had he been an adult - Jake rubbed his eyes, blushing slightly as the Huntress cooed at him and lightly brushed his hair. Blinking a few times to shake off the sleepiness - he hadn’t had a ‘nap-time’ since he was a toddler - and jolted slightly when he realised that there was a generator in front of him, the Huntress sitting crosslegged in front of the machine.

Looking up at the Killer, unsure of her actions, Jake only moved when she gave him a nudge towards the machine, cooing at him in conformation. However, when she stepped out of her lap, he was suddenly picked up by the scruff of his jacket and resettled in her lap. He looked up at her in obvious confusion, but she only shuffled towards the generator until her shins touched the metal. It took Jake a moment to realise what she wanted him to do and sighed in defeat as she awkwardly stood from within her lap and buried his hands into the frayed wired and mixed gears of the generator. His assumption was correct when she softly cooed at him once more and petted his hair a few times before stroking the other’s hair, Kate, Meg and Quentin all blissfully asleep in the motherly Killer’s lap.

That went on for a while. The Huntress taking them from generator to generator and waiting patiently as they fixed the machine while within her lap, cooing and humming all the way. Jake and the others couldn’t help but soak it all up, none of them having had such a caring and soft hand since before they’d arrived in this hell. Jake would forever deny that he was nearly brought to tears a few times as the Huntress cradled and rocked him as if he was the most precious thing in the world - like they all were the most precious things in the world and for the first time in a long time they felt protected and safe within the Entity’s Realm.

When the last generator was fixed, there was the tell-tale sound of the gate being unlocked and the Huntress was off. She carried all four of them to the gate, giving each of them a parting kiss on the forehead as she set them down on the ground, kissing and looking longingly down at the still-sleeping Quentin before she gently passed the smallest to Kate, who looked, by far, the eldest of the four of them.

With a little hesitance, the three made their way passed the gate, walking into the fog that would take them back to the safety of their campfire.

Jake was the last to go through, looking back at the watching Huntress before he nodded and whispered a small “Thank you,” in his childish voice, which still made him blush with embarrassment at how high pitched it was, to which the Huntress only tilted her head slightly and smiled softly at him.

As he jogged through the fog and back to their campfire, Jake couldn’t help but think that maybe being a kid wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to them…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jake - 10  
> Meg - 11  
> Quinten - 6  
> Kate - 12


	2. The Pig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, but I’ve finished deadlines and now the only thing that stands in my way are the graveyard shifts I take at work for the next 7 days in a row before I finally drive home for Christmas… God, I hate being an adult…
> 
> Anyways, hope you like this and I will be trying to update the other stories ASAP!!!

Amanda loved the trials, loved practicing her tests and loved watching as the Survivors either failed or succeeded in her tests. The Entity’s Realm was exactly the place she needed to be for her continued tests, though she did hate the fact that she had to run around with her head up a dead animal. At first, Amanda didn’t see the point of the pig head, but head learnt the value of the fear of the unknown and fear of the non-human when it came to the Survivors and their ever-mounting fear of her and her games.

There were a few good participants in her games. All of them determined to survive and win, even after they’d died a thousand times over. Some were braver than others, but they all had that itch, that need to live, that hope of escape that got them through trial after trial and Amanda loved to watch them as they fought and struggled for a life that would inevitably be taken from them during the next trial. It didn’t matter that it was all repetitive, it was still fascinating to watch.

So, Amanda loved trials and as she snuck around the chipped and cracked wall of an old building, empty window pane a few feet away from her and heard the shuffle of small movements, elation shot through her. Silently, she took her reverse-bear-trap out of her pocket, quickly setting it up as she stepped closer to the sound. Upon seeing the small flash of short, dark hair, Amanda lunged through the window.

Before the Survivor could even begin to struggle, Amanda had them pinned to the cold, concrete floor, her knees digging harshly into their back as she roughly forced the trap over their head, catching hair in the process and locked it into place- Amanda stilled in confusion. The trap didn’t fit. The trap, still locked into place, wasn’t secure on the Survivor’s head and Amanda lifted the device clear over the trembling male’s head. It was at that moment that Amanda finally saw that the body she was cruelly kneeling on was much, much smaller than that she was used to.

Freaked, the woman removed herself from the trembling form, watching as they scrambled away into the furthest, darkest corner of the room and watched her with wide, fearful eyes, purplish-brown shining with unshed tears. It was a child. And the mere acknowledgement of that fact it Amanda like a freight train. A child. She’d almost killed a child. What the hell was a child doing in a place like this?! Was the Entity insane?! Did It really think that she was that much of a monster that she’d kill children to satisfy Its appetite?!

The child was still sitting there, staring at her with such terror that it made her feel slightly sick with guilt.

She stepped forward but froze when the boy gave a fearful whimper. Quickly, she pulled in her practically non-existent maternal instincts and gently shushed the silently sobbing boy as she stepped closer into his corner. Eventually, she got close enough to scoop the kid up, awkwardly cradling him and brushing her blood-speckled hand through his soft, dark hair. The kid looked up at her with large, teary eyes with obvious confusion and Amanda couldn’t help but note that he was one of the cutest kids she’d ever seen - or one of the cutest kids that she could vaguely remember from her former life. She bounced him on her hip and she gently shushed him when he whimpered in slight fear.

Unsure of what else to do, Amanda went in search of an adult Survivor that she could palm the child Survivor to and then go back to killing and testing the adult ones.

She ran around the trial for a while, trying to find someone, but the Survivors seemed to be better at hiding from her than usual. Then she heard it. The small hiss of a curse that she almost didn’t catch with her pig mask muffling some of her hearing, making her pause. Without any more hesitation, she ran to where the sound had emitted from and came upon the half-completed generator and a small form still hissing obscenities at the old-looking device. Another child.

Shocked, Amanda caught her foot on a loose stone, the noise startling the other boy into jumping up and whirling around to face her. Fear and anger shined in those dark eyes, especially when he caught sight of the young boy in her arms.

“Dwight,” the boy blurted, his accent distinctly British with his high pitched voice, “You okay?”

The boy, Dwight, in Amanda’s arms gave a small hesitant nod and Amanda had a moment before the realisation hit her. These were the old Survivors. In front of her was the Angry Boxer and the one in her arms must be the Cowardly Leader - or ‘Dwight’. Somehow they’d been turned into children… Why would the Entity do that?

Nonetheless, Amanda gently released the squirming child from her arms and absolutely refused to acknowledge the fact that they both looked complete adorable as the Angry Boxer instantly swept up the Cowardly Leader in a fierce hug. The large, dark eyes that glared up at her was far cuter than ‘intimidating’ which the Angry Boxer had probably intended it to be. 

Without a moment more of hesitation, Amanda turned on her heel and vanished from the room. For the rest of the trial, she watched the Survivors (children) as they tried to sneak around and fix the generators, never once seeing her observing eyes from the darkness. Dwight and the Angry Boxer (‘David', as she’d later overheard) stayed together, David rarely letting go of Dwight’s hand as he led them around the trial - the scene was so sickeningly cute that Amanda had to look away a few times. She spotted the other Survivors as well, the Botanist, who looked just as small and adorable as Dwight did, and the Street Painter, who looked like she was barely on the cusp of puberty.

They were all kids and the fact that the last time she’d seen them, they’d been fully grown adults had taken Amanda’s head for a spin.

They were adults in children’s bodies.

That fact alone should have been enough for Amanda to carry on with her games and tests, but she still hesitated, still kept away from them. Despite Amanda’s impossible tests and games that Jigsaw disapproved of, they still shared the moral of never, ever involving children in their games.

Amanda’s games and traps were not for children and that was final.

No matter what the Entity demanded.

And so, Amanda watched in silence as the children ran about the trial, fixing the generators one by one until they all ran, on little legs towards the open gate and back to the safety of the others. Once the last of the kids were through, Amanda took off her pig mask and breathed in the frigid night air, sharp brown eyes looking towards the sky as the Entity grumbled Its displeasure in the back of her mind, before she turned and walked back to her secluded workshop.

She’ll get them when they become adults again, but, for now, the children were off-limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwight - 10  
> Claudette - 10  
> Nea - 13  
> David - 12


	3. The Shape

Laurie’s never been happy to be one of the youngest Survivors. While everyone else had gone past the legal drinking age, Laurie was forever stuck at seventeen, the buffer year before the big one-eight which is when all the important stuff happens. Her age made the others more concerned for her, made them look out for her despite not needing their reassurance and guidance that they always feel compelled to offer. All the Survivors in their teenage years got that kind of treatment and it had gotten so bad at one point that they’d all clamoured together to argue against their babying. The screaming match between teenagers and adults had brought them all tighter together, something to laugh at over the warmth of the fire, and had brought her, Quentin, Nancy and Steve closer together. It also helped their case when they all brought up the fact that they’d already faced-down serial-murderers and monsters before they’d been snatched up by the Entity.

However, with their de-ageing fiasco, the teenagers were now right back to where they’d started - not that Laurie can really blame them, this time. It honestly made her think that she’d been taking her former age for granted because she definitely preferred seventeen over seven, any day. She didn’t think she even remembered being this small and fragile! Her eyes were large and innocent, a brilliant shade of blue that everyone kept comparing to a bright summer day, and her hair had shifted from that dirty-blonde shade to a sunflower shade, making her look more innocent than she really was - the only thing missing was a dainty white little dress and a flower crown. Her fingers were short and inarticulate and she didn’t reach a grown-up’s hip. She hated her too-high, annoying voice, which made her cringe more often than not and she hated how out of place she felt in her own skin! The only thing that Laurie was relieved about was the fact that she never went through that rebellious thought of getting a tattoo with her friends on her sixteenth birthday because the sight of a child with tattoos was… odd - Kate being the main example with her giant flower tattoos that covered her small, limbs. Though she supposed that scarred stab wounds weren’t any better…

The only thing that was keeping her from ripping out her hair in frustration was the fact that she wasn’t suffering alone. It had been decided that Quentin and Steve were now the youngest of the group, at the ripe, young ages of six, while Laurie and Nancy were dubbed the ages of seven. Everyone at the campfire had been terrified when Quentin got called away for a trial, his young age making him unable to strive through his constant exhaustion that he’d normally be able to battle through as a teenager, tired eyes unwittingly slipping closed in a moment’s notice. Relief filtered through the group when they returned, Quentin sleeping soundly in Kate’s arms as Jake told them about their trial with the Huntress. It put new hope in the Survivors that there were some Killers who wouldn’t be trying to take advantage of their miniaturised state, but the fact that they wouldn’t always be that lucky still hung silently over their heads. The knowledge that The Pig was also secretly a big softy also had them sighing with relief.

Still, small advantages aside, Laurie couldn’t wait until the Entity stopped joshing them around and returned them to their normal ages.

Irritated and slightly bored, Laurie stared across the fire from between Steve and Quentin on the log, watching as Claudette, Dwight and Jake went through the pages of Benedict Baker, the absent Survivor, trying to find answers to their latest predicament. Laurie had faith in Claudette, she was the smartest out of all of them-

Suddenly her stomach dropped and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, making her jolt and then tense at the familiar sensation of the Entity pulling her into a trial. Beside her, Steve jolted as well, the pair making eye contact as Steve squeezed Nancy’s hand in silent and temporary farewell.

Laurie didn’t have time to look around and see who else could have possibly been called as she was pulled into the trial, a screen of fog filling her vision before clearing once again. Instantly, her stomach dropped as she looked around the trial, dread filling her as she spotted the familiar setting of Haddonfield, her least favourite trial area. To make matters worse, she couldn’t shake the wight she felt on her small chest, which only happened when she was in a trial with Michael Myers, her murderous older brother…

With practiced ease, Laurie mentally tucked away her uncertainty as she steeled herself for the pain, fear and adrenaline of the trial - if they did have Michael then there was no chance that she was getting through those gates completely unscathed. Grim-faced and determination boiling in the pit of her stomach, Laurie ran as fast as her short legs could take her and started her search in finding broken generators.

Ten minutes passed in silence. There wasn’t a scream in the distance and there wasn’t the thump of a Killer’s nearing heartbeat, but that didn’t mean Michael wasn’t watching her from a distance. He wasn’t called a silent killer for nothing. So, wisely, Laurie kept her wary watch and tense posture, just in case she needed to run in a moment’s notice.

As soon as her generator popped to live, Laurie was up in an instant, running as fast as she could and still felt like she was running too slow as she sprinted away from the generator. Hopefully, she wouldn’t stumble upon Michael as he tried to make his way to the freshly-fixed generator.

Luck didn’t seem to be on her side this trial as she’d just stepped out from the cover of a house, aiming to duck behind a nicely trimmed hedge, when she caught sight of the shadowed, white-masked figure standing not ten feet away. Instantly, the blonde froze, large eyes doubling in size as the air stuttered out of her lungs, her entire being freezing in place as a cold sweat broke out over her skin.

The stare-off seemed to go one for ages, the pair just staring at one another, trapped in time. Then, Michael tilted his head to the side and Laurie would have thought the action resembled his confusion if she had time to contemplate it for as soon as the movement was made, time seemed to resume and Laurie had turned on the heel of her shoe and started to sprint in the opposite direction. Not that she got far with her stupidly short, Bambi legs, which may as well have been toothpicks compared to the impossible length of Michael’s legs. She had barely ran passed the first front lawn before she was being swooped up from the ground, her eyes going large as she watched the ground get further away from her.

Paralysed by the fear of getting caught in such a vulnerable state, Laurie could do nothing as Michael brought her up to face level, the shadowed holes of his white mask piercing into her like his knife. Laurie could do nothing but stare back and uselessly kick her small feet into the open air and silently pray that Michael didn’t drop her from such a scary height. Once again, the pair stared at one another in silence, Laurie staring helplessly as Michael silently contemplated something.

Then, he moved. Mind finally made up. But, instead of pulling his giant knife from his pocket and stabbing her repeatedly until her last breath faded from her lungs, he moved her closer to his body, manhandling her until she was securely trapped against his side, his large bicep pressed against her back and his forearm bent underneath her so she didn’t slide down.

Laurie didn’t even think to struggle against the tight hold, she was so socked. 

But she did start to struggle or squirm as she had no room to actually struggle against him, when he started to walk, large lumbering steps thumping against the dark tarmac road with such purpose that Laurie had a sinking dread in her stomach that he was taking her to be hooked. If she was hooked, she was done for. The newly turned kids couldn’t reach her from a hook unless she was lucky enough to be put in a trial with a lucky still-adult member of the group - which she doubted.

Suddenly, Michael came to an abrupt stop and it was only then that Laurie realised that they had stopped in front of an old house, abandoned and uncared of, unlike the surrounding homes. Laurie remembered when she was younger and some of her classmates had made it a game to visit the ‘haunted house’ but Laurie had never dared step foot in the place, her parents’ threat of punishment being enough to keep her away. Curiosity took over as she looked at the house, taking in the bent guttering, the deadened lawn that had probably once been very beautiful, the smashed windows and small graffiti tags from teenage vandalism. It was creepy and looked like it had been lived in for years.

Then, the masked killer started to walk them towards the front door, his body seemingly on autopilot as he stepped passed the open front door, which was barely clinging on by its last hinge, and up the stairs which Laurie felt like the pair would fall through with Michael’s gigantic weight alone.

Laurie started to squirm again when he started to go towards one of the bedrooms but stopped when his arm tighten around her in silent warning. The room they entered was damn-near ransacked of everything it could have ever possessed, but with the faded wallpaper designed with babyish cartoons, Laurie could guess that this used to be a child’s room.

Confusion won out of every emotion she was feeling in that moment…

Why did he bring her here? Was this just his natural response to seeing her as a child? Was he going to try and take care of her?

“Wh-Why are we here?” she questioned, voice quivering slightly before she forced it to become hard her mouth twisting at how much she sounded like a petulant child.

Michael said nothing, which Laurie had expected, and instead sat down on the mossy, gross bed and placed her in his lap. He didn’t seem to want to do anything else as he just looked down at her, Laurie’s shoulders hunching higher and higher towards her ears with the continued weight of his gaze. Hesitantly, Laurie tried to shift and move out of his lap, hoping that he’d allow her to get far away enough for her to run, but every time she tried, his massive hand just pulled her back into his lap. Eventually, she huffed and crossed her arms, resisting the urge to pouch as she looked defiantly up into the black holes of the mask.

For a long moment, the pair just stared at one another, ignoring the distant pop of a generator in the distance. Then he raised his massive hand and Laurie flinched from the action, curling into herself as much as she could as she closed her eyes with the anticipation of pain from a hit that would do so much more harm to her in this body than her adult one. But the pain never came as his large, startlingly warm hand rested on her head, gently and awkwardly moving down before repeating the action. It took Laurie a moment to realise that he was stroking her hair and it was painfully clear that he’d never done such a thing before, or hadn’t done it in a long, long time.

Stiff and unsure, Laurie allowed the action - not like she could do much about it anyway - and Michael’s hand soon became less awkward, large fingers carding through her sunflower blonde hair and tugging, with more gentleness than Laurie ever knew that the giant man possessed when she came upon a knot or two. The tentative touches didn’t stop there as he soon gained confidence and started to pick up her small hands manipulating them so that they settled into the massive palm of his own, soft skin on calloused. Laurie soon got caught up in the peacefulness of the moment as she leaned into Michael’s caring touches and tried to see if her small hand was actually able to wrap around his finger. The answer: no. She couldn’t suppress the small smile that graced her face when she felt the small tremble behind her that told Laurie that he was laughing at the fact that she couldn’t get her small fingers to touch, no matter how hard she squeezed.

It was… nice.

And Laurie was so weirdly relaxed, she could almost forget that she’d been dragged to an alternate dimension where her brother and others have repeated killed her and the people she was trapped with; could almost forget that the man she was so comfortable with hadn't caused her so much pain and anguish, in this realm and in her own; could almost forget that this was the cold, blooded killer that had hunted and slaughtered her high school friends and had nearly succeeded in killing her.

She’d spent a lot of her time wondering why he’d done it, why he’d tried to kill her, why he was so angry at her that he went through everyone else in order to get to her and attempt to viciously end her life. The question of why he’d targeted her was easily answered with the fact that she was his biological little sister, only a little baby by the time he was sent away and she was adopted into another family. But why would he have burning rage for her as an adult but display none of that hatred in her current childlike state? Did he hate her for growing up? For not knowing who he was when he came to kill her? Did he somehow feel betrayed by the fact that she’d moved one and created a life for herself that he wasn’t apart of? But, as a child again, she resembled his dependant baby sister that he’d been taken away from all those years ago.

And, as Laurie absently accepted the dirty little teddy-bear that Michael pushed into her hands, she wondered if it all boiled down to the fact that Michael had wanted his little sister back but had returned to her and found someone completely different.

She unconsciously clutched the bear closer to herself as he continued to stroke her blonde hair, her thoughts loud in her head as she contemplated events in her life if only things had been a little different. What if she’d grown up with the knowledge that she had a brother? What of she visited him and made sure that he didn’t feel like the world had abandoned him? What if... What if… She looked down at the battered old bear and wondered if this was the toy she’d snuggled up to as a baby, wondered if he used to pick it up from where she’d thrown it to the floor and slipped it back through the bars so that she would finally go to sleep and stop crying for it. She wondered if he had been a good big brother to her before he killed their older sister…

Suddenly, Michael grunted in pain and before Laurie knew what was happening, she was outside, in someone else’s arms as they ran as fast as they could. She looked up slightly to see that it was Ace, his goatee-less face making him look near-unrecognisable if not for his trademark sunglasses. More aware now, she could see that they were running towards the gate, the generators must have been fixed while she’d been preoccupied with Michael. Feng - probably aged around thirteen, now - was running a little further in front of them, hand clutching Steve’s as she practically dragged the little boy towards the gate, his legs too short to properly keep up with her.

As they were running for their lives, Laurie looked back over Ace’s thin shoulder (he really was gangly for a fifteen-year-old) watching as Michael. He wasn’t even chasing them anymore, just watching Laurie get carried further and further away from him, letting them go. No matter what she did, Laurie couldn’t seem to take her eyes from him, watching him as they passed the gate and as the fog clouded his image and then obscured him completely - she felt a strange sense of loss when she couldn’t see him anymore, but quickly pushed it away…

It was only when she was finally settled in around the campfire that she realised she was still holding the old teddy-bear that Michael had pressed into her hands, Steve asking if she was going to sacrifice it to the fire, big doe eyes curiously looking from her to the toy as he absently brushed his hair from his eyes. When she said no, there was a flash of understanding in his brown eyes before he smiled slightly and nodded - weirdly perceptive for a so-called ‘dumb jock’ which everyone had categorised him as.

Laurie looked down at the bear before she stepped away from the fire to stash it somewhere. She would return it when she was an adult again, Michael had given the toy to his little sister, not Laurie Strode after all…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laurie - 7  
> Ace - 15  
> Feng - 13  
> Steve - 6


	4. The Legion (Frank)

Frank was confused.

No, confused was probably the wrong word for what he was feeling… Unsettled? Uncertain? Disbelieving? He wasn’t sure what he felt, but he could probably settle for a mix confusion and disbelief…

There had been rumours going around the Killers, about how the Survivors had been de-aged to toddlers or something. The Legion didn’t really hang out and socialise with the other Killers very much, preferring their own company of teenage delinquentism than that of adult and ‘old people’ who didn’t get most of their pop-culture references or were too wrong in the head to get a complete sentence out of them. Anyway, that distance between them and the other Killers made Frank think that maybe they were trying to make a joke with their own odd sense of humour, or maybe there was a new Saviour that was very young. Either way, something had been lost in translation.

Sprinting up the snow-covered hill was as easy as breathing to Frank, something that still sent a thrill through his veins. He’d been fighting fit in his former life, but with the Spider Bitch’s who-ha and whatnot, he and the others had gotten a superhuman power boost, making them stronger, faster and more deadly than they had been before. Out in the real world, they were a gang of delinquent outcasts that no one wanted to cross, here they were expert, lethal killers that no one would dare look at the wrong way ever again. Frank thought they all had a good thing going here, so when the Spider Bitch said ‘jump’ he was damn well going to fucking jump.

He huffed as he followed the tracks in the snow and Frank could easily see that they’d been made by a person who was desperate to escape, desperate to live. He grinned behind his mask, hand clutching his trusty knife as he contemplated the pros and cons of getting a mori instead of hooking them: mori brought him enjoyment, but if he sacrificed them the Spider Bitch might give him something nice. Though, the key word was ‘might’ and Frank wanted his fun over a ‘might’ any day.

Bloodlust renewed, Frank ran faster, knife out and ready to draw blood. He came to a skidding stop when he got to some bushes, the tracks clearly leading to that hiding spot. Honestly, Survivors were so dumb sometimes. Nonetheless, a kill was a kill.

Like a vipor, Frank dove for an attack, grinning like a manic from behind his bone-chilling mask as he roughly snagged the Survivor, gripping a handful of clothing before dragging them out and beginning to thrust his knife- wow, they’re really light! Frank had to take a moment to stare and blink in silence as he tried to get his mind around what the absolute fuck he was seeing. Dangling from his hand, kicking and struggling for freedom was a little kid who looked liked she was fresh out of kindergarten. But it wasn’t just a random kid. No, he recognised the little squirt as one of the teenagers to come out of the monster dimension, Natalie, or something beginning with an ’N’ - fuck if he knew!

Anyway, for a long moment, he just stared at the girl like a dumb-ass, her eyes burning like blue fire as she stared back, never ceasing her struggles despite how useless they were against him, who was much bigger and stronger. She was struggling so hard, he almost missed the tears of fear and frustration that were gathering in her big, blue eyes as she looked from his blood-splattered mask to the knife that was still hovering in the air, inches away from sinking into her gut. Key word being ‘almost’ because when he did see the tears, he dropped her like she was on fire and a pain twisted in his chest - that Frank refused to associate with guilt - as he shoved his knife back into his pocket. The kid wasted absolutely no time in turning tail and running for her life. She was out of his sight within seconds, while Frank just stood there and stared after her...

Whelp, looks like they weren’t just rumours after all!

The noise of a generator popped in the distance and Frank finally snapped out of his dazed state and started running towards where the generator had just been fixed, the opposite direction in which the little girl had fled. As he raced to where the Survivor was, Frank tried to get his bloodlust back, tried to get excited about the chase, but the shock of almost killing the child had ruined it.

He couldn’t even bring up the excitement to kill when he found the Survivor, an adult one, running for all she was worth. She was a pretty Latina, who must have only been a year or two older than he was. He wasn’t sure if he remembered her, but as he looked at her, screaming from where he’d forced the meathook through her shoulder, tears falling from her dark eyes, he could see the serious-looking adult in a pant-suit well into her twenties or early thirties.

Frank moved away from the woman and the hook, unbothered as to whether she actually stayed on the hook or not. He swiftly moves on, going on the hunt for any more Survivors, exclusively the adult ones. Ten minutes pass before he hears the low whispering from within the abandoned ski lodge and Frank readies his knife for an attack as he presses his back into the wall, not wanting to be seen just yet.

“-seen the killer yet?” a young voice drifted to Frank, letting him know that it was another kid.

“No,” came the reply, their voice deeper - an adult! “But Jane said that it’s the Legion. The leader, she thinks.” the man commented.

“Hopefully, we wont run into him,” the kid sighed as he continued tinkering with the machine.

“Too late,” Frank sing-sang, giving a moment for them to register his voice and their own death (well, the adult’s death) before he swung himself round the corner and grabbed the larger clothed object in the room before slamming him into the wall. The Survivor grunted as he came into contact with the hard surface, breath wheezing out them from the rough treatment. Frank made sure that they didn’t have time to recover before he was on them, knife pressed to their throat as he pressed his forearm into their chest, easily keeping them pinned.

When Frank got a look at the Survivor, he realised that despite their older status than the child-Survivors, he was still incredibly young-looking at about Susie’s age - not even done with high school. What’s worse was that Frank recognised him…

“Holy fuck! I know you!” he exclaimed, blinking in shock from behind his mask as he assessed the Survivor that he remembered from his hometown in Canada, “You’re the kid that made our tags! The one from the video store!”

As his exclamations went on, the teen’s confused expression turned into one of wide-eyed realisation and recognition. “Oh, fuck…” he breathed, sounding just as shocked as Frank did.

Frank remembered the Survivor, he couldn’t remember his name, when he was an adult: greying long hair, large beard, bear-belly, a dress-sense that told everyone that he didn’t have a girl in his life and two scars over his right eye that made him look a bit dangerous and unapproachable by normal standard people. Now, as a teenager, the man had long-ish, solid black hair that curled around his ears and head in an untameable way with nary a facial hair in sight (probably because of his inability to actually grow one at his current age), and his scars were still present, giving him that edgy look that made Frank think that he would have been part of the Legion in another reality. Sans the scars, the teenager looked exactly the same as he remembered, large and threatening with a vibe that said ‘fuck off’ as he did cool little doodles in a notebook as he sat as a cashier in the empty video store every night.

Recognition had always tugged at Frank and the others’ senses, when it came to this Survivor, but they had all agreed to ignore it and kill him as soon as possible whenever they were in the same trial. Guess he now knew why the Survivor seemed to familiar…

“What’s your name again?” Frank asked, annoyed that he was still calling the teen ‘Survivor’.

The teen blinked, momentarily shocked before he seemed to answer on instinct, “Jeff.”

“Frank, very nice to meet you, Jeff,” he leered from behind his mask, making sure to put a bit of extra ‘purr’ into his voice as he took his arm from Jeff’s chest and placed it on the wall beside his head, leaning in a little closer. Sue him, the guy was hot! Especially with the scars on the teen’s face, which made him look ruggedly pretty. Frank’s grin widened when Jeff’s cheeks flushed a faint red, doe-brown eyes widening with shock at Frank’s blatant interest.

A quick look around told Frank that the little squirt that had been there before was now gone, having run away when Frank attacked Jeff - smart move. Happy without the young audience, Frank swung an arm around Jeff’s hip, the teen being too tall for Frank to comfortably swing his arm over his shoulder, as he lead him on a casual walk around the trial. Frank’s eagerness for the trial had dissipated to nothing with all the children running about and his interest was otherwise diverted with Jeff.

“So,” Frank started, casually flipping his knife around with his other hand as they walked, skilfully ignoring how tense Jeff was at the action, “What’s with all the child Survivors and de-ageing?”

Jeff shrugged, the motion slightly awkward with how close Frank was to him, “We’re still trying to figure that out. Claudette’s been going through the old Survivor’s notes and trying to see if this has ever happened before, but there’s been no luck so far.”

“Old Survivor?” Frank questioned, admittedly a little curious about this new information.

Jeff nodded, “Benedict Baker. He was a Survivor and wrote a journal about this place. We’ve only been able to find odd bits of paper and entries now and again when we wonder in the fog. He was someone who knew about the Entity’s Realm before coming here and was obsessed with finding it and then logged about it all when he finally made it. None of us are sure where he is, if he finally escaped or if he finally faded and died for good. We’ve been using his journal entires for… guiding us when we’re confused.”

“Weird guy,” Frank commented absently. But, honestly, what kind of guy actively searched for a place like this? “So you just woke up one morning and were young again, no explanation, no reasons?”

“None,” Jeff shook his head and then he suddenly grew shifty, eyes glancing towards the twirling knife before going back to Frank. He seemed to finally settle on something before he finally spoke up, “I’m not usually one to tempt death, but… why aren’t you killing me?” he finished, sounding like he regretted asking the question before it was completely out of his mouth.

“Good question,” Frank smirked under his mask as he traced his thump over the sharp edge of his knife, amused with the way Jeff didn’t take his eyes from the weapon. “Came into the trial, in the mood to kill. Kids are a real kill-joy when it comes to that.” he shrugged as he continued to play with his knife, ignoring the pops of fixed generators in the distance as they walked around the snow. Frank grinned when he heard the small huff of amusement that came from the quiet teen beside him.

They walked around for a bit more, talking about their home town and how sucky it was, though Frank had a fresher memory of the place than Jeff did. The lazy town had been one of Frank’s last memories before he came to this world, while Jeff had moved away from the hellhole for years before he became a Survivor. They didn’t talk about anything personal, their lives and trauma being their own and both of them knew that as soon as the age thing was sorted out, it was back to mercilessly running and killing.

When the last generator popped to life in the distance, Frank knew that their time was up.

Without warning, Frank grabbed Jeff by his shirt, moved the bottom of his mask to the side and yanked the teen forward into a harsh, bruising kiss. Jeff made a small, surprised noise, brown eyes wide as he looked at Frank, making the Killer grin into the kiss. He slipped a little tongue action into the teen’s shock slacked mouth, earning him another startled noise before he pulled back with a shit-eating grin and fixed his mask into place once again.

“See you around, Jeff.” Frank practically purred into Jeff’s ear, making the (physically) younger man shiver.

Frank smirked, licking his lips as he watched Jeff turn and leave in a slightly dazed state with cheeks aflame from the kiss.

Well, at least there was one good thing to come out of this trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeff - 16  
> Nancy - 7  
> Jane - 19  
> Jake - 10


	5. The Hillbilly

It felt like days had passed as Claudette read through every scrap of paper that she and the other Survivors could find, trying desperately to find an answer to their predicament. She’d reread through all of Benedict Baker’s entries four times over by now and was about to go through them a fifth time. All of the Survivors had been on high alert and constantly going through the surrounding forest and fog in order to scavenge through the vegetation for any pieces of paper that they could find. They never found any pages, but they did find a lot more useless things to sacrifice to the fire along with some more useful items to keep for themselves.

Sighing, Claudette stood from her seat on the log, tucking the pages into a ratty old bag at the end of the wooden seat. She just needed to take a break from the pages before she attempted to rip her hair out in frustration. Giving a nod to Jake from across the fire, Claudette turned and wondered from the orange glow, letting her short legs carry her in some random direction in the darkness of the forest. She just needed a small break.

Every Survivor wanted an explanation and a cure for what’s been going on with them, none wanted that more than Claudette. She didn’t like being her current age. Not only was she small and defenceless, but she had a lot of bad memories that was associated with her pre-pubescent years: girls being mean to her because she was smart and not ‘pretty’ like them, break-times cooped up in the library and crying after overhearing that the boy she liked thought she was ugly, and lonely evenings in the room as she tried to ignore her parents’ yelling about the best way to help her. No. Being ten years old was not a good time in Claudette’s life and life didn’t start to look up for her until she’d graduated high school and had been offered grants and scholarships, while the people who’d bullied her had bright futures in the local fast food restaurant. Lot of good that did her if she was now trapped here…

Claudette huffed at her bland train of negative thought, kicking her small foot at a stick that would have rolled much further than it had if she’d been an adult, making her huff again. She stomped to the stick and kicked it again in frustration, glaring at it as if it was the reason for her declining emotional state. God! Sometimes she just couldn’t stand-!

“Wait…” Claudette whispered to herself, eyes suddenly trained on something in the dirt that her kicking had dislodged the soil from. She held her breath as she tried to control her excitement and hope, trying not to big herself up only to be left in disappointment - as a Survivor, you learned to not get your hopes up too high sooner or later.

Heart practically in her throat, Claudette crouched down and pinched at the spec of white paper that was stained with dry soil. She almost believed that it was her imagination, but as she grabbed the corner, Claudette couldn’t contain herself any longer as she swiftly pried the paper from beneath the soil, nearly ripping the precious item from her harsh treatment. Staring at the page with wide, hopeful eyes, Claudette didn’t even bother to try and call the others about her discovery as she gracelessly sat on the forest floor and started to read.

_“Entry 118_

_Time has no meaning in this place, that was clear to me from the moment I fell upon this place. However, for as long as I’ve been here, I’ve wondered about The Entity. I wondered why It created these trials, why It needed the Survivors to be sacrificed to It by the Killers, the questions were endless and I had very little answers to satisfy myself. I assume that The Entity needs us for food, that It needs sacrifices and our repeated deaths so that it may feed on the intense emotions that steam from life and death situations._

_I reassessed this assumption when something strange occurred._

_Our trials had been going badly. Our continued efforts to escape had begun to dwindle and every time we came back from a mori or sacrifice from the trial, the more exhausted and drained we became. For the first time since arriving here and accepting everything that Fait’s Hand had given me, I thought that we were dying and that we were going to stay dead. Then, spontaneously, we became young. Everyone had been given some sort of age reduction that made us teenagers or young adults again. I, myself, have been reduced to my early teenage years._

_No one was sure how or why we were reduced to practically children, which was when I started to consider that The Entity didn’t just feed from our negative emotions, or our crumbling hope. What if, when we started to loose hope, when we started to feel down and drained like we had all been feeling prior the change, we couldn’t muster up enough emotions to satisfy The Entity and so It fed from our life force which consequently reduced our ages._

_Since then, the Killers have been… lenient to our change and unwilling to harm us while we looked like children - their warped, but intact, moral compass not allowing them to do any such thing._

_It was a nice break from constantly dying, but the others and I still hope to gain our proper ages sooner rather than later.”_

Claudette blinked before she read over the paper again, frowning in thought at the theory. If that was the case and this transformation really was from the Entity taking their life-force after one too many bad trials (on the Killer’s parts) and emotional draining (on the Entity’s part), then with the Killer’s going soft and the Survivor’s morale increasing due to not being constantly killed and sacrificed, the transformation should reverse itself in time. Theoretically.

To be honest, everything they knew about this world was all theory based as they had no equipment or opportunity to credit or discredit them - nothing was for certain. Baker’s theories weren’t backed up by cold hard facts that they could wholly depend on, but it was the closest thing they had to answers. Still, despite that fact, Claudette felt a small surge of relief at her discovery, knowing that even the smallest of information would soothe the rest of the Survivors - for a little while at least.

Easily climbing to her feet again, Claudette started to make her way back to camp, paper in hand and a small smile on her face.

Then, she felt it.

The tell-tale tingling sensation on the back of her neck that made her hair stand on end and a sensation in her stomach that made her feel like she was about to puke. She knew this feeling, like all the other Survivors knew it. She was being called to a trial.

“Shit!” she hissed before she started to run. She needed to make it back to the campfire before she was dragged off to hell. The paper in her hand was needed and she had to get it to them before she was taken away! Silently cursing her short legs, Claudette forced her small body to go faster, harder, to get there and drop the paper off safely before she was dragged away.

The camp fire glowed in the distance and Claudette almost allowed herself to smile when heavy fog started to cover her vision. Thinking quickly, the botanist stuffed the precious piece of paper in the nearest rabbit hole. And as she was taken to her trial, she only hoped that the paper would still be there when she came back…

When her sight came back to her, Claudette sighed in slight relief at the sight of the Farm. It was one of the easiest realms, in Claudette’s opinion, especially with the layout and the tall fields to hide in - as long as you could stomach the rancid smell, of course. Usually the Killer of this realm, The Hillbilly, was easy to dodge and hide from so long as you remained quiet and unseen. However, even when he spots a Survivor and gives chase, he easily looses interest or gets distracted from the hunt - though many a Survivor has been hurt and killed by his chainsaw, despite this fact.

Nonetheless, the Hillbilly was one of Claudette’s least hated Killer of the bunch.

When she had revealed that to the other Survivors (it was a running conversation that is repeated often around the fire in different variations) they had all looked astounded and confused and she was bombarded with perplexed ‘whys’ from all directions. Claudette then told them a story of her past, of why she truly got into botany and decided to make a career out of it rather than have it as a secret, shameful hobby. When she was younger, a few years younger than her current regressed age, she’d come upon a little boy that was being bullied. The kid had a few problems, mentally and physically, in a severe way, which was why he was being bullied and such, much like she was. Claudette had told the bullies off and threatened to tell their parents, which had them scoffing and throwing insults as they strutted away from the pair. The afternoon was spent with the boy as he pointed out flower after flower, telling Claudette the names and properties and she smiled and did the same. He’d been nice and a fellow botany-lover and Claudette had hoped to be his friend whilst in school, but it was sadly not meant to be as he was sent to a school that specialised in teaching children with his kind of disadvantage. She’d never even gotten his name, but Claudette had considered him one of her first friends.

After that tale, Claudette told the campers that she suspected the Hillbilly of suffering from the same problems as her old, childhood sort-of friend. She told them that he probably didn’t understand what he was doing most of the time with a probability of over simulation of nearly all his senses, mass confusion and ADHD. It was hard to be angry at someone when they didn’t actually understand that a sharp piece of metal could be lethal to someone. Scared out of her mind, sure, but anger wasn’t something she reserved for the Hillbilly.

Ducking into the tall fields of rotten corn, Claudette hoped that she didn’t accidentally stumble upon the Killer if they were stalking within the tall crops. Hopefully, she can stumble upon the generator that’s usually hidden somewhere within the deadened field.

Just then, Claudette pushed through another set of rotten plants before she tripped over something hard and fell flat on the floor with a little grunt. Scowling at her stinging hands, Claudette turned to glare at the discarded tool that she had most likely tripped over, but scrambled to her feet when she saw that it was a line from the old, rusted generator that she’d been looking for. Grin lighting up her face, Claudette wasted no time in moving the metal panel out of the way so that she could get to work.

Working on generators was always nerve wracking to the botanist. It took several minutes to fix all the wiring and rearranging the half-rusted gears to their correct working positions and that time concentrating on the task left Claudette feeling vulnerable to attack. She could barely count the amount of times that a Killer had gotten to her while she’d been busy sorting out a generator in front of her, especially in the early days. Then, there was the fact that as soon as a Survivor finished a generator, the completion noise always drew the Killer to their position, leaving them to prey to Lady Luck that they didn’t accidentally run into unseen Killer as they ran for their life. It was a daunting task, but it had to be done…

Twisting the wires together, Claudette tried to focus on the machine all while keeping an ear and eye out on the surrounding area, muscles tensed to run in a moment’s notice. She didn’t know why, but fixing the generators was always something therapeutic to her, with the way she had to twist the wires together and arrange the gears, and it was often a struggle to remain aware whilst in the trial when doing the task. Especially now, with her frayed nerves and draining exhaustion, due to her current age and many intense repetitive reading binges, the therapeutic sounds of gears tinkering together and the machine humming pleasantly under her hands had her unwillingly relaxing as she worked.

Oxygen froze in her lungs as her breathes stuttered to a sudden stop, her entire body locked and tensed as she kept still and used her ears. When she heard the tell-tale rustling of a body shifting through the rotten crops once again, Claudette sprung into action, leaping to her feet as her breaths passed through her lips in fast, panicked lungfuls of air. Choosing a random direction, Claudette started to run.

As she ran, she ignored the putrid stink of the dead plants, ignored the dark stains on her clothes from the rotten vegetables that she brushed by in a hurry, ignored the fact that she couldn’t hear anyone chasing her and that maybe she should stop running - after all, that could be the Killer trying to trick her into a false sense of security. So, she kept running and running, as fast as her stupidly short legs could take her.

It wasn’t long before she was out of the rotten corn fields as she clumsily tripped on a loose stone and hit the ground with a pained grunt. Ignoring the pain from her grazed hands and elbows, Claudette stumbled to her feet and looked around for some kind of cover that she could hide in while she steeled her nerves once again. As she looked up, Claudette froze again as horror filled her being and her heart thumped in her throat.

Frozen with fear, Claudette could only watch as the huge body of the Hillbilly stood not a few feet away from her, his glowing eyes pinning her in place through the folds of his distorted face. Strangely, the Killer tilted his head to the side as he looked at her, his skin stretching oddly with the movement, like a confused puppy. Claudette was still frozen with fear when the man lowered his chainsaw and only unfroze when she accidentally let out a yelp of surprise when the Hillbilly lunged forward and scooped her up in, surprisingly, gentle hands.

Despite knowing that it was useless, especially in her small size, Claudette struggled in the Killer’s gentle grasp, which only got tighter and tighter until it felt like her delicate ribs were about to give way, forcing her to go limp. She watched with wide eyes as he took her through one of the buildings, which had once been a farm house. Claudette could do nothing but tremble in silence as the man walked through the house and then went to what had probably once been a bedroom with the door and entryway of the room more of an open hole to the boarded up, dark room.

She didn’t want to go in there.

Especially not with the Killer.

Her struggles renewed and she could feel that the Hillbilly was close to dropping her with all her squirming and kicking. However, her attempts were foiled when the Hillbilly dropped the chainsaw with a heavy thud and lifted her up so that she was level with his face as he held her securely from under his armpits, the gravelly and raspy, “No.” that came from the Hillbilly shocking Claudette into stillness as she stared at the disfigured Killer with wide eyes.

The Hillbilly had never spoken before.

Claudette and many of the Survivors didn’t think that he was able to.

Still shocked to stillness, Claudette did nothing as the Hillbilly grunted in affirmative before settling down on a foul smelling mattress on the floor with stains that the botanist didn’t even want to begin to identify. He placed her in his lap as he leaned against a mouldy wall, turning her so that she still faced him as he sat down. Then, he just… stared. Unnatural luminous eyes stared into her own deep brown, the expression on his face hard to identify with how disfigured and oddly stretched it was.

Suddenly, he lifted his hand and Claudette couldn’t help but flinch at the sight. Her fear seemed to go unnoticed as his hand descended downwards until it was resting in her hair, the weight of it pressing her head down sightly. A small grumbling sound came from his chest as he lifted his hand and then pressed it down on her head again in a parody of a pat, making him sound overall pleased as she sat stiffly.

“Small,” he rasped, the word spoken hesitantly as if unused to forming those types of sounds. Claudette wondered how long it’d been since he’d spoken to anyone, or maybe if he’d ever learnt how to speak at all.

There was a moment’s pause before the petting resumed and Claudette’s fear settled to a simmer as curiosity took over. She licked her lips in a nervous habit as she took a breath to speak, the words stumbling out of her in a nervous stammer, “I’m - M-My nam- name’s Claudette,” she introduced herself and hesitated to say more as the hand petting her hair had stilled mid-air and the Hillbilly was staring down at her with something she was too fearful to observe and document, “What- What’s your name?”

“Clau’e’,” the Killer tried to say, seeming to have trouble with the length of the name.

“Yeah,” she smiled brightly, encouragingly, “Claudette. But you can call me Clau if you want.”

“Clau…” he seemed to sigh out with happiness, hand resuming its steady repetitiveness as he stroked her hair.

“What’s your name?” she asked again with all the patience in the world.

“… Name…” he stated slowly and unsurely, his petting paused once again.

“Yeah,” she encouraged again, trying to keep him calm with an excessive amount of positive responses instead of negative. It wouldn’t surprise her if the Hillbilly’s thought process was a simple direction of negative responses means he gets hurt and positive responses means he’s safe. “What do other people call you?” assuming that he ever interacted with other people.

That questioned seemed to jolt something in him as he quickly moved - missing Claudette’s violent flinch from the sudden movement - and tapped at something on the wall. Leaning forward and squinting, Claudette tried to see what he was trying to point at, before she caught a small mark on the wall that differed from the usual pattern of mould. As soon as she caught the small mark, she could see more clearly at it was a scratch from nails or something sharp that made up a faint line. Squinting a bit more and turning her head slightly, Claudette saw that there was a name scratched into the wall, barely seen in the darkness of the room, but she could see that it was three letters with one of them being a badly, barely visible ‘M’.

“Max?” she hedged a guess, hoping he wouldn’t get mad and kill her if she got it wrong.

When he nodded his head enthusiastically, rocking back and forth with his excitement and only stopped when she nearly lost her perch from his lap and fell to the floor. “Clau!” he nearly shouted with how excited he was at Claudette saying his name.

“Max,” she repeated with a hesitant, but amused smile. The smile gained strength when he nodded once again, clearly happy. Maybe he was just lonely and wanted to talk to her? Maybe he’d always wanted to talk to them, but their size made him fear them and attack? But, now, with Claudette’s small form, he was less inclined to be fearful of her. “Is this your room?” she asked, wanting to carry on the conversation and keep him as calm as possible. Looking around, she kind of hoped that this wasn’t his room. The bent and rusted bars over the poorly boarded window and the fact that the mattress was on the floor was enough for Claudette to paint a picture of what the place used to look like - before it became part of the Entity’s Realm and the building started to collapse in on itself - and it wasn’t pretty.

The nod of confirmation was all she got as an answer and heard herself blurt out a deflated, “Oh…” as she thought about those implications. Abusive parents? They were probably ashamed of Max’s disabilities and disfiguration. Did they keep him caged in this room like an animal? Was that why he couldn’t speak in full sentences, or even broken sentences?

Claudette shook the thought from her head and instead concentrated on the here and now. She kept still and quiet as Max stoked her hair, face more open that it once was as it showed off pure fascination as he picked up and stroked one of her short dreadlocks. Claudette looked at the Killer’s own hair, silently understanding his fascination with her own as she took in the dark, patchy mess that was on top of his head.

“They’re called dreadlocks,” she tells him, as he gently twists one in his fingers, “It’s to somewhat tame it because it just turns into a big, curly mess,” she joked with a hesitant smile.

Max didn’t seem to know how to comment and Claudette doubted that he actually understood what she’d just said. He moved on from petting her head as he gently stroked a finger down her cheek, Claudette twitching slightly as she felt the lightly sharpness of broken nails against her face.

“Dark,” he hummed, probably noting the contrast of his lighter skin against her darker tone with the same utter fascination as when he touched her hair.

Claudette smiled slightly, “I’m African Canadian. My mum and dad are African Canadian, but both my grandparents were from Africa. They went to America for a better life, but travelled up to Canada because they didn’t like the racial tension. There was some racial tension in Canada, at the time, but not as much as America apparently.” she rambled, despite knowing that he probably didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Pretty.” he rumbled, once again ignoring Claudette’s explanation.

“Thank you,” she smiled, something warm and real as she directed it up at Max, who merely blinked before going back to the previous task of stroking her hair.

Feeling weird to sit in silence whilst someone was stroking her hair, Claudette thought about a subject that she could bring up because she opened her mouth to fill the silence between them, “What do you know about flowers?”

It felt like ages had passed as Claudette spoke about flowers, describing the colours and the patterns of the different ones she named, giving Max the common and the scientific name, before listing qualities and how she could use them - she even told him what they meant in the flower language. Max looked partially interested as she rambled on, but he never stopped in his touches, both of them ignoring the generators that popped to completion in the distance. One by one, the generators went off and soon Claudette snapped her head to the exit of the room as the sound of the gate unlocking registered to her.

Max also stopped. Stilled at her sudden movement and her abrupt silence.

With slight regret, Claudette turned back to Max and tried a small smile as she helplessly shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, Max,” she started softly, “The gate’s open. I’ve got to go.” she moved to get up, hoping that he would let her go.

“No,” he commanded, face twisting with a frown as he forced her back down into his lap, hand already going back to her hair to continue stroking.

“Max,” Claudette started again, ignoring the shakiness in her voice as she tried to stand again, “I really need to-“

“No!” he shouted, the bellow so sudden and so loud that Claudette would have fallen over if not for Max catching her and pulling her close to his chest, holding her there.

Too tight.

His hold was far too tight and Claudette started to struggle in earnest when he wouldn’t ease off.

“Max!” she tried to shout, but her face was pressed further into his grimy shirt. She couldn’t breath!

Her earnest struggling turned to panicked thrashing as she tried to force him to relent his painful grip. She could hear him shouting “No!” over and over as she struggled more, fighting for breath that she still wasn’t getting. Her lungs began to burn, hot tears escaped her eyes and her screams were muffled in Max’s chest when she felt the agonising pain of her ribs finally snapping and giving way to the crushing pressure he held her in.

He was crushing her to death!

He was suffocating her!

Claudette didn’t know how long she’d been struggling for air; in reality it must have only been a handful of minutes, but to her, it felt like an eternity. Soon, darkness started to enter her vision, her brain shutting off as it had been deprived of oxygen for far too long. Her struggles grew weaker and weaker and Claudette couldn’t even muster up a wince of pain as blood started to bubble out from her mouth due to her insides being crushed.

Soon, she died and stopped moving all together.

As Claudette woke beside the fire, a crowd of Survivors fussing over her, knowing that she’d been killed, Max finally relented his harsh grip on Claudette’s body, looking down in confusion when she didn’t move and remained limp, it was only then that he noticed the blood on her chin and the absence of life in her beautiful dark eyes - he’d killed her. As Max screamed and cried over the dissolving body of his friend, frantically stroking her beautiful hair in an effort to wake her up, Claudette was brushing off her friends’ worries, not wanting to think about the death that was caused by a too-heavy hand and a too-delicate body, and told them of the diary entry she’d found before the trial and the theory Benedict Baker had about their current issue.

Hopefully, the whole matter would be resolved soon and Claudette wouldn’t have to feel that helpless and terrified during a death ever again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claudette - 10  
> Yui - 12  
> David - 12  
> Dwight - 10


End file.
